PETHERTON'S PEDIGREE.
A stroke of luck enabled me to open an interesting little correspondence with my genial neighbour, Petherton, which resulted in one of those delightful passages-of-arms in which Petherton, at least, excels.
DEAR MR. PETHERTON (I began),—I have made a discovery which will, I am sure, interest you, though I am uncertain whether it will be as pleasing to you as to myself.
During certain research work at the Record Office I came across incontrovertible evidence that we are in some way related through a Petherton in the early part of the eighteenth century (tempus GEORGE II.) being sufficiently far-seeing to contract a marriage with a Fordyce. This Petherton, by name Edward, lived at Kirkby Lonsdale, and his wife, Emily Jane Fordyce, at Dent, in the same district.
I haven't a family tree by me, but know the late-lamented Emily Jane by name. She was part of the issue of one Henry Fordyce, who is in the direct line, absolutely non-stop, without changing, from the earliest known Fordyce to myself.
What a field for speculation is here opened up! With your scientific bent you will grasp the possibilities of the hereditary influence of my family on yours, supposing Edward Petherton to be a direct ancestor of your own. To me the unexpected result of my researches will give an added interest to our correspondence, and I await with eagerness your views as to the value and interest of my discovery.
Your kinsman,
HENRY J. FORDYCE.
Petherton cried "Touché" at once, and lunged at me in accordance with my plan of campaign.
SIR (he spluttered),—As a very busy man I must protest against your attempt to distract my attention by writing to me on a matter that is of no importance. That your discovery is of a somewhat disconcerting nature I will not deny, but that it is of any particular value or interest to me is hardly to be expected, seeing that it relates to a by-gone century, and any defects acquired by the Pethertons from such a union will, I imagine, have been overcome by now.
The Fordyces were apparently a more attractive race in the eighteenth than in the twentieth century. I can scarcely imagine a present-day Petherton contracting such a mésalliance.
A direct ancestor of mine, Edward Petherton, as I see by the Family Bible in my possession, was born in 1699, married in 1728, and lived at Kirkby Lonsdale. His wife's name is not stated, but I can the more readily believe that he is the misguided individual to whom you refer, as he died in 1729, no doubt as the result of his rash act. His son, Primus Postumus Petherton, born, as his second name suggests, after his father's death, carried on the line. Any possible virtues or talents my family may possess are not, I am certain, from the distaff side of this union.
Yours faithfully,
FREDERICK PETHERTON.
I made a thrust in tierce:—
DEAR COUSIN FRED,—What a mine of information you are! I touch a spring and out comes Primus Postumus Petherton. The name conjures up visions of grey church towers, monumental urns and the eulogies in verse beloved of Georgian poets. I wonder whether Possy was a great letter-writer and kept poultry. By the way, what a lot of good things begin with a "P," and, talking of poultry, I notice yours are laying, or should be. They are certainly in full song these mornings.
I'm so glad that you're so glad that I'm a relation. When I was at the Record Office again yesterday I searched for more information about my new-found relatives. In fact I dug up the Petherton allotment thoroughly and unearthed Priscilla and Anne, both of CHARLES I.'s time, and Marmaduke of the Restoration.
I couldn't exhume a complete family tree, or no doubt I should have found all these worthies hanging on their respective branches, though Marmaduke might have dropped off, as he appears to have been a bit over-ripe from what I could gather from the records.
How are the Food Regulations suiting you? Judging from your last letter I'm afraid you are not taking enough starch. Of course I know it's gone up fearfully in price lately. Personally I've taken to wearing soft collars.
Your affectionate Cousin, H.F.
Aren't you pleased that potatoes have come in again? (Another good thing beginning with a P.)
Petherton ground his teeth for a last bout, and bade me come on.
SIR (he wrote),—I'm glad you've taken to soft collars. They will suit your soft head. As for food, I'm afraid you're not taking enough arsenic. A slight touch of relationship to my family has evidently turned your brain. I cannot say how sorry I am that you should have discovered the one flaw in my pedigree.
Yours faithfully,
FREDERICK PETHERTON.
I gave him one last little tweak under the ribs:—
DEAR OLD BOY,—Just a hurried line to say that all is forgiven and forgotten. The family feud (there must have been one, I'm certain) which has kept the Pethertons and the Fordyces apart for the last couple of centuries is a thing of the past, now that we two understand each other so thoroughly. I am only sorry I did not discover the strawberry mark on your left arm earlier, that I might the sooner have subscribed myself.
Your long lost HARRY.
This either disarmed him or he threw away his weapon in disgust.
"Other houses have a good many books which have come down from posterity, mostly in odd volumes."—"Claudius Clear" in "The British Weekly."
Some of those that we bequeath to our ancestors will be quite as odd.
It is rumoured that during the period of food-control a well-known Soho restaurant intends to change its name to the "Rhondda-vous."
